Wayfarer (Wanderlust 2)

Chapter Eleven

It was cold in their room the next morning, but not nearly as cold as it was every morning in the carriage. Still, the cold made it hard to leave the comfortable warmth of the bed sheets, and each other. Tanden nestled in Soren's arms, trying to ignore the fact that morning had come. Luckily, they had made no plans about when to meet Jale, and since he was paying for the entire trip, Tanden decided it wasn't going to be an early morning.

When he felt Soren stir and suspected Soren was awake, Tanden said quietly, "What are the chances Jale bursts in here this morning to make sure I'm still alive?"

"If you're quiet she won't worry," Soren replied with a yawn.

Tanden smirked against Soren's chest. "Was that a proposition, mate?"

Soren chuckled, and Tanden felt it as much as heard it. "Don't pretend you weren't propositioning me, Captain."

"Well, I'm just saying... it's a warm, comfortable bed."

"Aye."

"It's been a while since we had a warm, comfortable bed."

"Aye," Soren agreed again.

Tanden threw a leg over Soren to straddle him, and didn't quite manage to keep the blanket over his shoulders. He tugged it back up, and part of him wished he had a pin to keep it in place, like a giant cloak. "It's my turn, mate."

For the first time that morning, Soren cracked his eyes open. "Hmm... Dunno. The terms of the bargain—"

"No, you said "tonight", and tonight is clearly over," Tanden corrected. He reached an arm out from underneath the protective blanket, to gently wipe some of Soren's hair away from his eyes. "Gonna make me beg, mate?"

"That Crelan accent trick doesn't work as well when we're not on the Wanderlust."

"That's a lie." Tanden clutched the blanket to his shoulders as he leaned down to give Soren a kiss. "You like it."

"Well..." Soren trailed off, and pretended to think about it. For all his chastising, he could be quite dramatic himself, when he felt like it. Tanden sat up again and trailed his fingers up Soren's chest, over the place his ribs had been broken months earlier, over the temporary tattoo, until his fingers met the curling edges of Soren's Crelan tattoo around his neck. He traced the lines of the tattoo lightly with his fingertip.

Finally, Tanden felt Soren's warm hands on his hips. "Go ahead." Soren said.

"Very funny," Tanden said, reached for the little bottle of oil they had left on the bedside table.

It was a loud knock on the door that woke him up again. Soren could tell from the slant of the sunlight that they had dozed off, and some time had passed. He freed himself from Tanden's arms, and pulled on his discarded pants before going to answer the door.

Jale pushed her way in as soon as he'd opened it. "You two are late. Get up—" She walked over to the bed and pulled the blanket off of Tanden's face. "Wake up."

"What?" Tanden grumbled, rolling over. "This is my trip. We're not late."

"I booked the rooms until midday," Jale said. "So unless you want to innkeeper to come in and drag you out of bed, I suggest you get up." She turned to Soren, who was still standing by the door. "You have henna."

Soren blinked. "What?"

"On your chest. Your arms are clearly different. Oh well," she shrugged, and shot Tanden a glance over her shoulder. He hadn't moved. "Get him up."

"That's not always easy."

"Wait, wait." Tanden sat up, sounding far more awake than he had a moment ago. He let the blankets settle around his waist. "Jale. How's the barmaid doing this morning?"